The Hunter and the Hunted: Two Stories of the Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong Page B

blue light crackling through the dark.
    “I want that book.”
    Silence. Then manic gibbering. Finally, one voice, as the others fell still.
    “We respect Lord Balaam. We respect the daughter of Lord Balaam. But the book is ours.”
    I skewered the speaker and tossed him up, and he shrieked as the others scampered back again.
    “Mmm, try again.”
    “We—we are willing to speak to Balaam on this matter.” The oni struggled to keep his shrill voice calm. “Negotiate. Yes, yes. We know Balaam is fair. Balaam is powerful but fair. We will negotiate and let him see the book.”
    I considered. I could push the matter, but there were a lot of oni. And mass slaughter didn’t seem to be the way to handle this. At least, not until I knew more.
    “I’ll be back,” I said. “Have the book ready.”
    •  •  •
    Human lore tells us that hell is guarded by a three-headed dog. Not true. It’s three giant dogs, the Cerberi. But they do guard hell. Or my own personal version of it: the Great Library.
    The Great Library exists only in the afterlife dimensions, the real one having been set aflame when Caesar torched the Egyptian fleets. Yes, further proof that war and historic buildings are not compatible. Or that those running wars don’t give a shit about historic buildings.
    I said hello to the girls—Cerberus One, Two and Three. Boring names. Also, insulting, I think. I call them Polly, Molly and Rue. I think they like it. They also appreciate that I stop to pet them, where most hurry past, spurred on by the sight of those foot-long fangs. But the girls really are very sweet and they’re good to me, letting me by even when I’m not on angel duty. As the massive guard dogs may suggest, the Great Library isn’t open to the afterlife public.
    I passed the dogs and headed in to find Trsiel. I joke about the Great Library being my version of hell. It’s more of a love/hate relationship. If I’m looking for lost spells or rituals, it’s like a giant candy store where everything is free. If I’ve been sent here to do research, it really is a living nightmare. Chasing people with answers is my kind of research.
    I wandered through the collections. I could say I was looking for Trsiel, but really I was just waiting. Sure enough, it took about ten minutes before a gray-haired scholar spotted me and raced off to find my far-more-angelic partner before I got myself into trouble.
    I slouched into a chair and waited. Two minutes later, a figure rounded the shelves. He looked as much like an angel as I did—just a regular guy, about thirty, dark haired and olive skinned, dressed in jeans and a pullover. Trsiel is the real deal, though. A full-blood. Or close enough. There are rumors of full-bloods with a shot of human DNA, to help them better understand the people they’re sworn to help. Other full-bloods say that explains Trsiel’s “lowbrow” tastes. I say they can go to hell. Maybe it does, or maybe his more human tastes started the rumors. Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it does make him a better angel than most of the ineffective snobs who populate the angel dimensions.
    Despite his very human appearance, there’s a faint glow to Trsiel’s skin that gives him away to those who know angels. And for those who don’t, his cover is blown once he opens his mouth—his voice is so richly compelling that every shade in hearing distance will stop to listen.
    “Eve,” he said, striding to meet me. “What do you need?”
    “Good to see you, too. Been a few months. How are things?”
    He fixed me with a look. He knew I’d come for something and he knew I wouldn’t want to endure twenty minutes of chit-chat to get to it. We’d been partners for six years. I spent about as much time with him as I did with Kristof, and we knew each other as well as most couples. It was good to see him after almost three months apart. I wouldn’t say that, but he knew it.
    “Lost book of Moses,” I said.
    “Hmmm.” He turned and